


A Prelude to Number Six?

by soucieux



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-14
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soucieux/pseuds/soucieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kame is a photographer who's immersed in his work and himself. Jin is an up-and-coming solo artist whose face no one has seen. One behind the lens, one in front; two very different views of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART 01

**Author's Note:**

> Dramatic AU. Thanks to snowqueenofhoth@LJ for beta'ing this. She even made sure that the title and summary were acceptable, and she made sure that i didn't quit halfway through or a quarter of the way through or almost at the end.

Kamenashi Kazuya is wary of relationships. He is hesitant of commitment, hesitant of attachment, hesitant of liking someone until he notices peevish habits (and then everything goes downhill). Kamenashi Kazuya puts an inane amount of time into thoughts about relationships that he doesn't want to have.

That is not to say that Kame does not date or commit. He is twenty-three years old going on twenty-four and has had five steady relationships. Three girls and two boys. The first was a girl in high school. They dated for two years until graduation, when she went to some university in Kyoto while Kame stayed in Tokyo, and they both decided that long-distance relationships just weren't their thing. 

A boy was his second—when Kame turned eighteen and lived away from his parents, new to the whole independence-in-a-big-city thing. It had lasted three months—until Kame vacationed with his partner for a week and decided that weekday habits of crossdressing were a little bit too weird and embarrassing to deal with. 

Aki-san had, maybe, been Kame's first real love. She had been older—the daughter of a close family friend and someone who Kame had known before he began playing baseball. It was three years before their lives reached a fork in the road and neither of them wanted to negotiate and choose the other's route over their own. 

Girl number three had been a fling—one who reminded him of Aki-san. And he didn't feel bad until two months later, when he still occasionally called her by the wrong name and she hadn't seemed to mind. 

The last relationship lasted just shy of fourteen months. The man was a little older, a little more mature (age twenty-nine when they began dating), and Kame had been initially been reminded of Aki-san with him too—but it was different. It ended in an argument over Kame's distance and lack of interest, and he was still sulking (just a little bit) because maybe the reality of it all stabbed him through the heart.

Which is not to say that Kame is jaded and a hermit because of past relationships. He just, maybe, has heightened expectations. He likes to go out with friends and karaoke and shop. Occasionally, he goes to clubs (though not as much as when he went to university) and spends the night at a stranger's apartment. He just, maybe, has a life to take care of (he's almost twenty-four and not getting any younger) and a job to do (he's a photographer for the fashion magazine _Shibui_ that he interned at during school) and undoubtedly, as one gets older, there is less time to play and more time to work.

He receives a text message: "Karaoke tonight? The usual place in Shibuya?"

"No, got a late shoot," he replies, which is mostly true. Mostly. Except, by late, he means the next morning at seven. He reasons that if he stays _up_ until seven, then it is late. But he isn't going to.

Shit (he is a hermit).

\---

Kame falls asleep on the couch at ten with a Chinese take-out container in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. He wakes up at four to his cell phone alarm and leaves home at four-fifteen to go to the gym. He works out from four-thirty until six-thirty and then dashes to Starbucks for an espresso before sliding inconspicuously into the studio at an impressive six-fifty-nine.

"You're late," one of his assistants calls, catches him removing his bulky cream-colored parka. The woman is by his side in seconds, shoving a pile of papers into Kame's hands and he's nearly scalded by sloshing coffee in the process.

"It just turned seven!" Kame protests. He'd spent longer than he'd meant to at the gym, but it had been to make up for the Chinese take-out and the fact that he hadn't gone in about a week and a half. "I'm on _time_ ," he continues.

His assistant—Emi—rolls her eyes. "Seven for the subject. Six for the rest of us." She flicks his forehead.

"You don't need me to set up a few cameras and lights," Kame replies irritably. "The tech guys do that, don't they?" He waves a hand around. "It’s nothing involving rocket science." He nurses the cup of coffee between his left elbow and chest as he sifts through the paperwork.

He clicks his tongue. "'Jin'? Thirty-two pa—cover shoot?"

Emi flicks Kame in the forehead again and snatches his coffee before it spills all over his clothing—a black vest with vintage gold buttons and a crisp white dress shirt beneath it. "What's up with you these past few weeks? Normally you would have known everything about the subject by now—especially if it's someone who's important enough to get thirty-two pages and the cover shoot. You've been spacey ever since—" Kame cuts her off with a glare, and her pink lips contort into a frown before she abruptly changes the subject. "A _cover shoot_ on the most popular solo male artist in Japan," she bites.

"Never heard of him."

"He's relatively new to the music scene. Came out about a year and a half ago." She holds up one finger. "His first single sold half a million copies. You’d think it was a fluke, right?" She smiles and holds up two fingers. "His second single sold four hundred thousand, but his latest—" She pauses. Kame finds himself listening closely because he knows that solo male artists just _don't_ sell that much. Three fingers. "His latest single has sold seven hundred thousand in the last month—and it's still going strong. Potential to sell over a million by the end of this month. He's damn popular." 

"We've never done a spread of him before," Kame says. "I'd remember. And I'm surprised—"

"It's his first."

"Excuse me?"

"His _hook_ ," Emi says, and pushes up lime green glasses frames with an index finger, "is that he's never been seen publicly nor done any real magazine photoshoots or interviews."

"Seriously? No live performances?"

"Seriously. And well, he's never been present on those music shows. They always play a VTR or connect to a studio via live feed, but it's not like you can ever _see_ him. Oh, mysterious." She grins. "I have him on my cell phone though! I saw him walking into the dressing room!" Her eyes brighten and she pulls a hot pink DoCoMo phone from the back pocket of dark-washed skinny jeans. "Want to see?"

"I almost considered you to be a normal human being," Kame admonishes, lips curving upward as the two of them make their way to the camera equipment. “But you’re just a fangirl.”

Emi rolls her eyes. "He's really good-looking." Her grin widens. "Maybe he can make you forget about—"

Kame deigns her with a suffering glance.

"Right. He should be out of the dressing room soon." She smiles sweetly.

\---

Kame enjoys photography. His first camera was old, dusty and heavy—a gift from his grandfather for his fourteenth birthday. It required that he expose the film himself, and he checked out several books at the local library to learn how to do it properly.

He found that he liked it about as much as he liked baseball (which was _a lot_ ).

So it was inevitable. The time that he didn't spend at the baseball fields was spent wandering through the streets and parks of Tokyo taking black-and-white photos of people in action. Of scenes and sights and things that he thought he'd want to remember. The brilliant sky on a cloudless day or the soft rustling of maple trees when the breeze was at its slightest.

Or maybe just a sleeping salaryman at the bus stop down the street from his childhood home.

So when he went to Hosei University, the baseball coaches were more than disappointed when he chose an internship at Shibui over trying out for the baseball team. A shake of the head, a little frown. So much talent going to waste.

Somewhere along the way, Kame reflects, photography decided to leave baseball behind and become something more than a simple pastime.

It's strange that Shibui, a fashion magazine, something of a glamour magazine even, is Kame's workplace. He’d always taken images of still-lifes and landscapes, subjects in their natural surroundings. But Kame had also developed a chic palette when it came to the aesthetics of human form and fashion, and he felt that instead of reacting to an image that he wanted to capture with photography, he was creating his very own. 

At the tender age of twenty-three (nearly twenty-four), he is one of the main photographers for the magazine and calls his own shots. 

Any layout that he works on is completely under his jurisdiction. No cropping, no cutting, no photoshopping without his approval.

To put it frankly, Kame prefer things candid, and if his success is any indication, he knows what he's doing.

\---

Kame doesn't understand the artist's publicity stunt. When the door to the dressing room opens, he expects the man to be average-looking, perhaps dumpy and pot-bellied, no one special—someone who would profit by remaining mysterious in the heavily commercialized and image-oriented entertainment industry of Japan. But Emi is right, Kame concludes. This Jin figure is good-looking—effortlessly. Dark hair falls nearly to his shoulder and curls in large waves around his face. His eyes are round and dark, half-lidded and a little sleep-deprived. His _lips_ —Kame is surprised that he doesn't notice them first—are full and a little pouty. When he turns, Kame notices the line of broad shoulders and lean legs through the suit. He's snapped from his admiring stupor when a woman taps Jin on the shoulder and gestures toward Kame before they both begin to walk in his direction.

"Akanishi-san, this is the photographer," the woman in the dark grey suit says. Her hair is straight and dark and pulled back in a bun. She is monochrome except for the slash of hot pink that makes up her eyeglass frames. Kame thinks that she must be his manager.

"Gucci," Kame says instantly, eyes flickering toward the woman's glasses. He smiles. "My assistant has them in a different color." The woman smiles back at him and Jin appears impressed. "Kamenashi Kazuya," Kame says, and bows, half-wet coppery red-blonde hair falling into his eyes. "It's a pleasure to be the first person to officially photograph you, Akanishi-san."

The man blinks and scratches his nose before allowing an embarrassed smile. "You can call me 'Jin', Kamenashi."

Kame smiles back. Jin’s grin is infectious and rather charming, something innocent and refreshing.

"Ah, Kamenashi-san, I mean," Jin catches his mistake, runs a hand through his hair. Kame sees the mole at the corner of his right eye.

"'Kame' is fine," he returns. "We're just finishing up with the equipment, so if you want to wait here—" he gestures to the area that they're standing in, with fold-up chairs and a long table of food, "—we'll be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"There’s so much food!" Jin laughs, and Kame quirks a thin eyebrow. "I mean," Jin says, catching the confused look in the other's eyes, "if I eat, I'm bound to get this suit dirty. And it's _Zegna_ ," he emphasizes the designer, "and new. And I don't want to mess up my first photoshoot by spilling coffee and muffin all over a two-hundred-and-fifty thousand yen suit."

"It'd make a funny candid shot," Kame comforts. He looks over to where Emi is, fighting with the tech guys over how to position the lights. "I have to make sure my assistant doesn't kill our lighting guys." He cocks his head in their direction and excuses himself from the client's company.

It is not until Kame begins walks over to Emi and lighting that he realizes that there is no one to trip over, no one holding expensive equipment to dodge. The set, he realizes, is conspicuously empty.

"Where is everyone?" He asks.

"Naturally," Emi says, looks up from finally deciding to adjust the back light herself, "since this is his first photoshoot and he's so goddamned popular, word gets around. So we're working with minimum staff at his request so as to not have some dumbass upload cell phone pictures onto a forum." She is very matter-of-fact.

Kame raises an eyebrow. "Didn't you—"

"I'm not showing anyone!" Emi cries, and Kame winces when her flailing movements cause the light to lurch and sway and threaten to fall atop an unassuming staff member.

\---

Jin, Kame finds, is inherently photogenic. "Are you sure this is your first photoshoot?" He asks. "You're very good at it. A _natural_ ," he emphasizes, and lowers the camera from in front of his face to give the other man a smile. "Though, could you try tilting your chin forward a little bit?" Kame asks. "And look directly at me; move your hair out of your face."

"How am I good at this if you have to give me specific directions?" Jin laughs, and Kame makes sure to snap several photos.

"But they're little things," Kame says, continues to take pictures as he gives Jin directions to pose however he feels most comfortable. "You can take the suit jacket off if you want. There will probably be a few clothing changes before we're done today."

"So if I strip now, that just makes the job easier for the stylists?" Jin asks jokingly and loosens the thin, pale pink tie. 

"Sit down in the chair—face the back—yeah—that's good." Kame watches Jin fold his arms across the back of the chair, lay his head down and close his eyes. "We could do a few shirtless shots if you wanted,” Kame says seriously, and Jin's head snaps up.

"No." He laughs. "No way. That would be so embarrassing."

\---

They finish the shoot at eleven, but Kame thinks that something is missing. "How do you feel about candid shots?" He asks as the other prepares to leave the set and go to the dressing room. "Not here, I mean." He gestures to the set. "I mean outside. I think those would be nice," he says. "But if you just want to get out of here—I understand."

Jin blinks and looks to his manager who shrugs. "She normally just plays babysitter," he jokes, and throws the woman a wink. "But ah—yeah! That's cool. That's good." He grins. "A whole bunch of studio shots would be a little boring, right? Do you mind if we grab something to eat too? I'm starving, didn't eat at all this morning because I was nervous as hell."

"Breakfast is most important, isn't it?" Kame asks, and finds himself unconsciously walking Jin to the dressing room.

"Well what did _you_ eat?" Jin asks. "I didn't see you eating anything."

Kame hesitates. "A cup of coffee," he admits.

"You're a _huge_ hypocrite," Jin announces incredulously, laughing all the while, and Kame can't help but smile a little as he pretends to mumble poisonous comebacks beneath his breath.

\---

They leave the studio a little before noon. The manager leaves Jin in Kame's hands with a, "Ah, you get to play babysitter now," and Kame snaps a picture with his Nikon D40 as Jin feigns a pout. There's an indignant yell and Kame secures the camera strap around his neck before Jin has the opportunity to grab it away.

"My pride and joy." Kame gestures to the camera. "Don’t touch it," he pauses dramatically, "Ever."

Jin nods, eyes wide, like he takes Kame’s threat to heart. “Eat first?" He asks. "I hope you aren't expecting something fancy," he says, and links his hands behind his head, puffs his cheeks and breathes the air out slowly as he looks in Kame's direction. "I kind of just want some ramen. Something easy and convenient after this morning. Besides, I know a little place nearby that's really good. Haven't been there in a while either."

"Lead the way," Kame says expectantly. They walk because Jin says that it isn't far. Four city blocks 'that way'. "So," Kame begins after several minutes of silence, pulls his oversized parka closer to his body. "You've got some weird reverse publicity going on." He laughs and looks over at the other, one eyebrow arched. "The work of your PR department or your own idea?"

"Are you going to sell this as an interview or something?” Jin asks, and quirks an eyebrow of his own. He shakes his head at Kame's alarmed expression and smiles wide. "I'm just kidding. I’m told that Shibui is famed for its professionalism, and Shibui’s representatives recommended you highly as the photographer for this shoot. Of course," he muses, "they probably also wanted to have my face’s debut to be with them. It's a business thing." He shrugs. "But, ah." He bites his lower lip and scratches his nose—a habit—and Kame snaps another photo dutifully. "Answering your question—it was a little bit of both. We were in the early stages of my first single and the record agency wanted to discuss what kind of image I wanted to portray." His smile is worn. "They thought I was joking when I said, 'My own.'” He pauses. “It's not as though I'm a complete slob who picks his nose or an obnoxious jackass who can't keep his mouth shut—they just thought that I was naive in believing that the public would see me—" He gestures toward his face. "—for my music when I'm—" He hesitates.

“Good-looking?” Kame finishes unconsciously. 

Jin looks surprised and Kame feels uncomfortable. “Yeah,” Jin says. “That.”

There’s awkward silence before they stop at a street crossing and Jin suddenly whirls around to look at their surroundings. "We passed the restaurant, I think.” He sounds confused, and he scratches his nose again, embarrassed smile firmly in place as they backtrack past three shops until they're beside a homely restaurant front. Kame looks in the large window and sees dim lighting and customers who sit at the bar and converse with one another like they're regulars. 

He doesn't notice that he's staring until Jin reaches for his sleeve and guides him inside the door. It's warm, and the other motions for Kame to sit in a booth beside the front window. Jin sits across from him. "So I suggested that we just not show them my face because I want to be known for my _music_ ," Jin says earnestly, "for my composition and voice. And I was twenty-four at the time and had it in my head that if I didn't succeed spectacularly, I was going to drop music as a career and become a salaryman." He grins wolfishly. Kame notices that he smiles a lot. "All or nothing." He laughs.

"Well, it worked,” Kame says and Jin places his order without hesitation. Kame takes a few more moments and the waitress promises their drinks will be out in a few minutes. "What I don't understand is why you've decided to go public now. You're doing well without a face, aren't you? Your mysteriousness is anything but a hindrance judging from your sales."

"I've wondered about it," Jin says, eyes flickering out the window and toward the busy street. "But I think it's better if I reveal myself before the novelty wears off and the media and paparazzi find out on their own who I am. And there's nothing to lose, right?" Jin folds his hands in front of him and presses his lips together, raises his shoulders in a slow shrug. "There's nothing to lose if my music has already proven itself, if I've already proven myself. There's no reason for the media to tell me that I've got fifteen minutes of fame because of my charm and good looks when for the last year and a half, they've only gotten a hold of the music I've given them, right?"

"What about the anonymity?" Kame can't keep himself from asking. "You know how tabloids and paparazzi are. They're notorious for invading personal space. As soon as everyone knows what you look like, they'll be watching your every move like a hawk." He has to bite his lip from continuing his thoughts, but Jin picks up his slack.

"They'll try to find out conspiracy theories as to why I've kept myself out of the media this long, huh?" Jin asks and rattles off his own larger-than-life ideas. "I'm actually a woman who had a sex change operation and I needed to wait until all of my surgery was done before I came forward. I'm a former worker in the red light district and didn't want to be seen. I'm a swinger who's known for having affairs and the mothers of my children are bound to say something when they find out that I'm not a deadbeat without money—" He looks at the bemused expression on Kame's face.

"You put too much thought into this.” Kame laughs. “You could write your own rumors, you know—sell them to tabloids too," Kame says, and Jin's mouth contorts into an expression of affected chagrin.

He recovers quickly though, and gives an indignant sniff as he scratches his nose. "Maybe I will.”

"No way." Kame takes a sip of his unsweetened iced tea. "You'll be fine." He sucks in a breath and tilts his head to the side as he gives a thoughtful look at Jin. Soft face, strong jaw line, gentle and _determined_.

"I'd better be. We're discussing my first album. I have songs written, composed—I wanted it to be ready for this winter, for right after this single, but singles right before albums don't sell as well, usually, and with my decision to 'reveal' myself, well, you know. We pushed the date back until this summer—unofficially, that is. Officially, I'm not working on an album," he babbles, "Sorry. I talk to anyone who listens—who I can talk to. A lot of everything's been kept under wraps and—ah, sorry," he says again, and a blush spills over his cheeks.

"I'm not really someone you have to impress," Kame says truthfully, "and personally, I think—I think now, what you have really sells. Sincerity and honesty, I mean. So being yourself is the best publicity. It's endearing, really." He fumbles over his words too. Kame isn't sure how to advise Jin, doesn't know if his own experiences allow him to help with Jin's job-related troubles.

"Thanks," Jin breathes, and his eyes light up when the ramen arrives.

Kame makes sure to take more photos and doesn't bat an eyelash when after he only eats half of his lunch, Jin eagerly offers to finish it for him.

They leave the warmth of the building and outside, a light snow falls. It's a quarter past one and Kame clicks his tongue. "I didn't know that it would snow today. It's the end of November," he says, and looks over at Jin as he rubs his hands together and blows warm air on them. "There's a park a couple of blocks away, so we can take a few more shots if we just walk through there on the way to the station." He begins to walk in the direction of the park with the other alongside him.

"Can I get your number?" Jin asks suddenly, pulls a sleek black phone edged in red from his pocket. "You really made today bearable for me," he says, and smiles wanly. "If you want to have lunch again sometime, I promise we won't have to talk about something as boring as my career." He laughs, and Kame tells him his phone number and email address before Jin does the same.

Kame also makes sure to take a photo of the other staring intently at the small screen of his cell phone with tiny crystals of snow gathering in his hair.

They part ways at Shibuya Station. Kame waves good-bye and is watching Jin's back disappear into the crowd when he receives a call from Emi. "What's going on?" He answers.

"Are you almost done?" She asks. "Are you going to bring him back to look at the shots? What about the candid ones?" She sounds rushed, a little hurried, and Kame remembers that he left her there to clean up the set with minimal staff and useless guys from tech.

"I'm done," Kame says, begins a hurried pace back toward the studio. "He had other obligations so I let him go at the station. I'm going to bring the candid shots back and we can look at the studio shots ourselves—or did you have plans for later today?" He asks.

"Oh, no. It's not that," Emi says, "This is the cover shoot, isn't it? I made sure that my whole day was free." She laughs. "I was just wondering. You'd been gone a couple of hours and I didn't think that the candid shots would take so long, _so_." Her voice ends with sharp punctuation and intake of breath.

"Do you want me to pick you something up at a convenience store?" Kame asks a little sorrowfully. He still feels guilty.

"No. I made one of the tech guys go get me something since they're absolutely useless at anything besides being errand boys." Kame can hear the loathing in her voice. "Anyway, the photograph editors need these shots as soon as possible—we're running a little close to the deadline for the photoshoot. The January issue is out in a couple of days and since this is the cover for the February issue, well, you know. The supervisors are getting a little pushy."

"Mmm." Kame bites his lip. "I'll be back in about fifteen minutes, then. I'm going to give Jin a call and ask him to look at the shots tomorrow."

"No problem," Emi says, and Kame thinks she sounds sweeter than normal. "When you come back, we need to have a talk, though."

"About how I've been acting lately? Sorry that there's been a lot of pressure put on y—"

"No, _stupid_. How was Jin?" Kame can see her secretive girly smirk in his head. "Did you like him? Did he like you? You know, when you guys were on the set, how he was _looking at you_ —"

"Shouldn’t you be working?” Kame asks, and hangs up, feels more embarrassed than he should under the circumstances and his cheeks are aflame.

\---

When Kame returns to the studio, Emi is already done developing the film and printing the digitals. The staff is cleaning the dark room equipment, and they leave to go to the main Shibui building to sift through the photographs.

"I took a look at them," Emi says, holds the tote bag with the photos close to her side. "They came out _really_ nice. He's really photogenic," she says. "I'm surprised that he didn't take advantage of his looks sooner in his career. They would only help him."

"He said," Kame recalls, "that he wanted to be recognized for his work, not for his looks." They're beside HMV when he grabs the sleeve of Emi's wool coat to keep her from walking past. "Hold on a second, okay? I need to pick something up."

"His newest single?" Emi jostles Kame with her hip and whines when he pinches her arm.

"Shut up. I'm curious." He drags her into the store, conveniently finds all three of Jin's singles on a large rack near the cash registers.

"Will this be all?" The woman at the register asks sweetly, and Kame reaches into the back pocket of his red jeans for his wallet.

"Yeah."

"Gift for your girlfriend?" The woman makes small talk as she scans the CDs, eyes flickering in Emi's direction. "He's a really popular guy, isn't he?" she continues.

"All for her," Kame says convincingly, and winces when Emi's three-inch heel stabs the front of his right foot.

\---

"He's really good-looking," Emi says for the umpteenth time. When they arrive at the Shibui building, they check in with the photography department executive and take over a conference room on the eighth floor, spreading the photos across the long table until there is no more visible space.

"How many do we have?" Kame asks, fingers the edge of a photo of Jin with his back to the camera and his head turned so that he looks over his shoulder—there are crinkles at the corner of his eyes and his teeth show in a boxy grin. He'd changed his outfit by then, and was wearing a pair of baggy olive cargo pants with classic orange Pumas. The white hoodie was up, and the dark wavy curls of hair that framed his face peaked out from beneath it. One hand lay on a cocked hip while the other's fingers were splayed in the typical "V".

Kame doesn't realize he's staring until Emi punches him in the shoulder. "Will you listen to me? I _said_ there were about three hundred photos. And _then_ I said that the one you were touching was cute and a keeper and you weren't listening because you had a silly little smile on your face." Her voice is an octave higher by the end of her statement.

"Shut up," Kame deadpans, takes the photo and tapes it to one of the windows. "So we should probably get down to like thirty of the studio shots and we can let them sift through the candid shots."

"If that's what you want," Emi says, and there's silence as they separate the good from the bad from the ugly. Unattractive lighting here, a strange angle there.

"He takes really good photos. He has a lot of energy," Kame tries to break the silence, meticulously sifts through the photos by outfit. "You can see it in a lot of these," he says. "Still surprised it's his first."

"You're a good photographer," Emi says bluntly. "You worked really well with him. He was really nervous beforehand, couldn't you tell? You really got him off his edge." She laughs. "Sometimes you do your job so effortlessly, I think you don't actually know what you're doing."

"Shut up," Kame says, and throws one of the bad photographs at her. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Kame doesn't get home until ten that night, and he’s sitting in bed fiddling with his cell phone alarm when it buzzes in his hand—the ring tone is a poppy commercial jingle and the caller is Jin.

"Hello?"

"Kame? It's Jin. My manager called me and she wanted to know if I'd had a chance to look at the photos. But, you know, I'd completely forgotten about them." Jin laughs.

"Ah." Kame looks at the clock on the table beside his bed. It's nearly one in the morning. "Did you want to come over and look at them now?" He asks, "Because it's a little late," he says lamely.

"Oh!" It's more a sound of realization than anything else. "I didn't realize it was so late." The other sounds apologetic through the static—one of the annoyances of Kame's apartment is that his own cell phone doesn't get very good reception in it. "It'll be fine if I can take a look at them before the magazine starts printing, you know?" He says. "I probably should have waited until tomorrow and just gone through Shibui, but I had your number and I thought I'd make sure you hadn't given me a fake one or, you know, something." His voice slows at the end of the sentence. “Not that I thought you would do something like that—” he says hurriedly.

"It's my real number," Kame says softly, and his laughter is stifled by a yawn. "Sorry. I can show them to you sometime this week, if you'd like. When are you free?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" Jin asks. "I'm free from around seven. If you don't have any arrangements, we can go out to dinner."

Kame goes through his own mental calendar. There is a photoshoot arranged for an underground rock group the following morning, but he knows for a fact that the layout is less than ten pages and there would be another team taking care of photo development and selection. "That's fine," Kame says, pauses. "Do you want me to make plans or do you have someplace in mind?"

"Don't worry. I'll take care of that. Party of two?" Jin asks.

“Unless you’re inviting others,” Kame says. “Are you?” He asks.

“Oh, no. Just confirming. Unless you want to bring someone—who was your assistant—”

“Emi,” Kame says, and yawns again. “Her name is Emi. And she’ll probably be busy.” Kame isn’t really sure, but he doesn’t want to have to worry about contacting her.

"I'll send you directions tomorrow, then."

"It's a date," Kame says unconsciously, and mentally berates himself.

Jin just laughs, sounds a little tired. "Tomorrow, then. Or, later today." He laughs again. "Sorry that I called so late," he apologizes. "I didn't even realize it was past midnight. So—"

"It's okay," Kame says. "I'll see you tomorrow night." There's a strange silence. "And your photos turned out really well, in case you were wondering."

"Oh. Really? I'm glad! I was afraid they'd all be really terrible." 

"They were really nice," Kame repeats. "Good night."

"Good night." And Kame wonders if Jin's husky pronunciation is his own imagination.


	2. PART 02

Jin texts him the name of the restaurant along with an address and Kame recognizes it immediately. It's a new, expensively chic Italian restaurant in Aoyama. Kame remembers how many of the younger, trendy women at Shibui talked about how much they wanted to go there when it first opened and just how difficult reservations were to obtain (all the while muttering about unromantic boyfriends).

\---

Kame is always punctual. Kame is always on time. Kame doesn't really like when someone makes him wait.

It's eight minutes past seven and there is no sign of Jin. 

He sits in a plush armchair in a corner of the restaurant lobby. The lighting is dim and elegant, flooding down from antique lamps that hang from the ceiling. He stabs the fancy carpeting with the toes of his shoes and anxiously flips through his manila folder of photos.

When Kame looks up a few moments later, the maître d stands in front of him. "Akanishi-san says that he'll be late. Twenty minutes at the most. Would you like to be seated now? Or…?”

"I'll wait here," Kame says, smiles at the young man who looks classy and refined and elegant in his pinstriped navy suit. He himself wears dark corduroys tucked into black boots and a soft forest-green turtleneck. The crowd that frequents the restaurant is younger, more casual by nature.

"I'll tell you when he arrives," the man says, and bows before moving back toward his post at the front of the room.

Kame shuts his eyes to pass the time.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes again, Jin is suddenly standing in front of him, dressed in fitted black dress pants with pointy silver shoes and a black scoopneck knit shirt. "Sorry," Jin says, reaches out a hand to pull Kame up. "I was meeting with the record executives and it took longer than expected," he explains, has one hand on Kame's shoulder as he guides the way to the maître d.

"It's all right," Kame says, feels a little hazy after just waking up. "What time is it now?" He asks.

"About eight," Jin replies, looks over at him and smiles widely. "I tried to text you after I called the restaurant, but you didn't answer." He pauses. " Long day? Maybe we shouldn't have met tonight."

"Don't worry about it," Kame says, feels embarrassed. "If you're tired on the job, you still have to do it, right?" 

\---

"How long have you worked at Shibui?" Jin asks curiously, elbows on the table, chin resting on his folded hands.

Kame counts it off on his fingers. "Since getting out of university, so almost two years now. I interned after I got out of high school, though," he says. "About six if you count that."

"You're young." Jin sounds surprised. "You seem older. I mean—" He blinks in realization. "Not that you look old." He laughs. "You seem mature," he corrects. "And you take your job really seriously."

"It's my job, right?" Kame asks.

"But you seem really into it." Jin recalls the photoshoot. "Like, you kind of lose yourself in it. Like you know this is what you're going to do for the rest of your life."

"I guess most young people aren't like that," Kame says.  
”Most are still indecisive at this point in their lives, right?"

"I had no idea what I wanted to do." Jin laughs. "I still have no idea."

"Aren’t you doing what you love now?” Kame asks. “Songwriting? Music? Singing?"

"What if?" Jin says. "What if I were something else? What if I don't like being in the spotlight?" He asks. "What if I crash and burn at the age of thirty-two?"

"You can't really let 'what if's carve your life, can you?" Kame asks, raises an eyebrow. "You have to seize what you can and live life to the fullest—" He laughs. "I sound like an old man giving you advice."

"That's embarrassing." Jin laughs too, scratches his nose. "That's embarrassing since I'm older than you. If anything, I should give you advice, right?"

\---

Since a young age, Jin had always had a reputation. One of someone fun-loving and carefree when it came to his personal life, fiercely devoted to his family and friends. Charming and good-looking and honest. His heart is on his sleeve. Headstrong and brash, the action always occurring before the brain has the time to think it through.

It is, perhaps, the last part of his reputation that causes him to be more reserved around strangers, more cautious and pragmatic, a little less reactionary. It's the self-consciousness that arises from others, friends and family, reminding him of the type of person he is, and how that can get him into a bit of trouble if he doesn't watch himself.

"If you said that to anyone else, they'd think you were a real narcissist!" His best friend tells him one day when they are fifteen and young and still learning, lying on a green grassy field under the wide expanse of cloudy, grey sky.

"But I _am_ the best at soccer," Jin replies, links his fingers together behind his head and turns toward his friend. "I'm also the best at singing," he declares.

"Big words for someone who can't prove any of it," his friend says, grins at Jin.

"You're just angry that I totally kicked your ass a few minutes ago," Jin contends airily.

"Maybe," his friend says. "But then, you're lucky that I'm your friend when you've got an attitude like that," he jests.

"I'm the best fighter too," Jin says, grins because he's just trying to strike nerves now. "I could totally beat you up." Boyish jibes and childish arguments. Inside, maybe a little, he fades. 

"You're also lucky that everyone likes when you smile," his friend mumbles. "Somehow that makes up for everything. I wish my smile got me out of trouble."

"I could get myself out of trouble without a good smile," Jin argues. "I don't need my smile to do anything. I can prove myself on my own," he says, feels lazy as he turns back to the sky, the wind kicking up and a light drizzle starting to fall. 

\---

They forget about the manila folder and Jin feels uninhibited the more he drinks, the longer he talks to Kame. 

"You have three brothers?" Jin asks incredulously, eyes opening wide. "Are you sure?" He asks.

Kame rolls his eyes. "No. I've been miscounting for twenty-three years."

"That's a lot of siblings," Jin defends, pushes his plate delicately toward the center of the table. "Are you the oldest?"

"Almost the youngest. Second-youngest," Kame says.

"You don't seem it," Jin says, frowns. "You definitely seem like the oldest. That mature air." He waves his hands around.

Kame laughs. "Do you have siblings?" He asks curiously.

"A younger brother," Jin says. "I wonder what it's like, though. To have someone older. I think it would be overbearing."

"Just a little overprotective," Kame says, leans back in his chair as he considers his statement. "A lot overprotective with two of them." He cracks a smile and reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and a picture inside of it. "Here we are. All four of us. The picture's a couple of years old, but, you know."

Jin takes the photo from between the other's fingers. He stares at it for a few moments before looking up at Kame and then back down again. "Are you kidding me? It's like. Three of the same person." He blinks, feels a little headache coming on. "And an awkward-looking young one."

Kame laughs. "We all looked like that. Late bloomers," he says. "At least we bloomed," he decides.

"Has your girlfriend ever mistaken one of them for you?" Jin asks, hands the picture back to Kame. "That would be funny—not really. Nevermind."

"I don't have a girlfriend." Kame shrugs, takes the picture back.

"Boyfriend?" Jin asks, before his brain can stop his mouth.

"My last relationship ended a few months ago," Kame says, puts the picture back into his wallet. His cheeks feel warm.

"Oh," Jin says intelligently. "Well," he says, "There's a ton of fish in the sea." And there's a few moments of silence before Kame suggests that they look at Jin's photos from the previous day.

"Usually the photographer collaborates with the editor to choose the cover photo," Kame explains as they flip through the photographs. "But if you like a particular one, I can put in a word for it. It's not a big deal," he says.

"This one," Jin says quickly, pulls a photo from the folder and hands it to Kame. For that roll of film, he'd worn a pair of tight black pants and pointy shoes. His hair was wet—Kame had jokingly suggested that he put his head under a restroom faucet since he'd had been complaining about the hot lights—and dripped translucent spots onto the clingy white silk shirt. One hand pushed back dark waves from his face as the other pulled at the neck of his shirt, and he watched the camera through half-lidded eyes with half-parted lips.

"Sex sells," Kame comments.

Jin tilts his head to look at the photo again. "Yeah," he admits.

\---

"How was your date?" Emi asks the next day, watches as Kame drops the manila folder onto his desk. "What time did you get back?" She asks, and then gasps in faux surprise. "You didn't spend the night, did you?" She waggles her eyebrows.

"It wasn't a date," Kame says. "I got home at midnight. I didn't spend the night. And we didn't have drunken sex in the back of his car," he deadpans.

"I didn't ask the question that needed that last reply," Emi sing-songs, and picks up the manila folder. "I'll take this to the editors, but, really." She leans in close to Kame. "Was the meeting okay?" She asks.

"It was fine," Kame says, shuffles through the papers that are on his desk. "I should have sent you. The food was good. You would have enjoyed it, and probably the company." He pauses. "And I might have gotten another job," he finishes.

"You're not quitting here, are you?" Emi asks, nearly shouts, and everyone in the office looks in their direction. One hand flies to her mouth.

" _No_ ," Kame replies, rolls his eyes and waves a hand at the other employees so that they know Emi's untimely screech has no truth behind it. He lowers his voice to a whisper and leans down until they're at eye level. "I might be doing the photoshoot for his first album and photobook," he says, mouth curving into a smile.

"Wow," Emi says, eyes widening. "Wow, your photos must have really made an impression," she says, and flips through the folder. "I mean, it's not like his management has even gauged public reaction to this photoshoot, so he must have really liked you. And the photos. And your ability," she finishes hastily.

"It's nothing final," Kame says. "His management probably wants to see how well the shoot is received, and I'm sure they have their own photographers in mind." He begins to give all the reasons why he won't be doing the photoshoots. "I'm relatively new, aren't I? I've only been doing this, officially, for a couple of years, so—"

"You're excited," Emi cuts him off. "You're really excited, aren't you?" Emi asks. She smiles. She's excited. "You haven't spoken about something like this in a while. Like you really care."

"I care," Kame says, lips coming together in a thin line. "What makes you think I don't care about work?" He asks, shoulders stiffening.

"You care," Emi says, "but you haven’t really expressed it for a while. Now you're like a giddy little kid." She laughs. "It's cute. Cute _Kazuya-chan_ ," she coos.

"Shut up," Kame says, flops down into his chair and looks up at Emi's face. "Bring the photos to the design department before they send us five emails asking for the covershoot. And—the photo in the front. Jin likes it. He wants it to be on the cover." 

"All right, boss."

\---

December flashes by and New Year's Day comes and goes. It's the beginning of January and the streets are heavy with teenagers on winter holiday. Kame has to brace himself against the wind when he walks, and the uncharacteristically frigid air seeps in between layers of clothing and into his bones. Kame hums along to the catchy commercial jingle that is his ring tone before reaching for his phone.

"Hello?"

"It's Emi. Don't worry about coming to the studio today. Looks like the model from Sapporo isn't coming down. They're worried about the weather conditions. Boss says we can take the day off since there's no other shoot."

"Really?" Kame brings one cold hand up to touch his cheek. "The weather here is pretty worrisome, too," he says, looks up at the sky. "It's starting to snow and it's sticking."

"Well," Emi says, "Go home. Or go out." She pauses. "When was the last time you went out, Kame?"

"A couple weeks ago. That meeting with Jin," he says.

"That was in last year—" Emi nearly shrieks, and Kame pulls the phone away from his ear. "But, really, Kame," her voice calms to civilized levels. "You should get out more. It's good for you to socialize with people rather than your photography chemicals."

"They don't shout in my ear," Kame says, and he can see Emi's pout in his head.

"Hermit," she accuses.

"Shut _up_ ," Kame says emphatically. "Shouldn't you worry about your own social life, then?" He asks. "I don't think it's healthy for you to obsess over mine." He means it a little jokingly, a little lightly, but it comes out more scathing than he means.

"I worry," she says softly.

Kame hangs up.

He walks past Shibui, walks past the other skyscraping office buildings in Shinjuku. There's a place, a destination, somewhere he used to frequent while in university, and he hasn't been there in years.

Suddenly, he has the urge, hit with nostalgia.

It's a tiny cafe off a busy, main street, down a smaller street, right, left, right again. His feet remember the path and he's there before he knows it. There's the sound of a bell as he enters, and it signals to the staff that there's a customer. It's busy inside, he realizes. Busier than it used to be, even during the lunch hour. Its popularity must have grown, because whenever he walked in there when he was younger, it was empty. Empty and quiet, with time moving slower than it did outside.

"Are you by yourself?" The hostess asks, smiles at him warmly.

"Yeah," he says lamely, scuffs the soles of his sneakers against the mat and tries to brush melting snow and water off the shoulders of his designer jacket.

She leads him to a table beside the front window. "Coffee?" She asks. "You look like you walked here," she says. "You’re shivering," she explains.

"Thanks," Kame says, removes his coat and drapes it over the back of his chair. He hadn't believed the weather reports—snow. He felt that they were seldom right, and he'd worn a denim blazer over a grey hoodie with skinny black jeans and battered white trainers.

He looks out the window at the grey sky and suddenly feels depressed, wilted, tired. It's the weather, he decides. The weather sucks, and he feels immature and young.

The waitress comes back with his coffee, cream and sugar. He tries to drink it black, but the aftertaste stains his palate and throat. He remembers coming here when he was younger, more carefree.

It was after his last relationship, he notes sourly. He stopped calling his friends after that, preferring to be alone, preferring to be buried in his work. It was easier. Distance wasn't a choice when he was photographing others. But, in his personal life—

It nagged him (it still nags him).

Kame takes criticism well. He reasons that without it, he can't further himself as a person, and he's always wanted to be better at _everything_. Photography. Baseball. _Relationships_.

But some things just come easier than others. Camaraderie is difficult. Kame's always been particularly serious, worrying about school and work and the future, forgetting that in addition to the objective, there was the subjectivity of human beings. It's difficult for him to reveal his emotions, to explain his feelings, to open up.

So, he thinks, after his last failed relationship. He gave up. He did what he knew how to do and ignored everything else.

"Kame?" Kame's eyes jerk away from the window, look up at the man that stands beside his table. Jin. "Funny seeing you here." Jin smiles, and his long black wool coat looks warm even though icy wetness collects on it. "How's work?" He asks, hands in his pockets. His ears are red from the cold, his hair pulled back into a messy, wavy bun.

"Busy." Kame says, smiles back strained. "You know, like work usually is. "How've you been?" He asks. "I sent copies of the photos to your management last month. How'd they like them?" He asks, motions for Jin to sit down across from him.

The other obliges, removes his coat and he wears a white t-shirt with a large foil print of a woman's naked silhouette on it. "A lot. They liked them a lot. I was going to call you," Jin says, "but I didn't get the chance." He leans in close to Kame, secret smile on his face. "You're still willing to be my photographer, right?"

Suddenly, Kame feels brighter, alive, happy. "They’d let me?” He asks, and can’t hide the upward curve of his lips.

"They just want to see how well the issue does, but you're all but officially cleared," Jin explains. "You look happier now," he says when he sees Kame's face light up, grins back. "You looked so sad when I was walking by," he says, "I had to stop and make sure you were all right." His voice lowers, sounds worried.

"Am I keeping you?" Kame asks, eyes wide. "Date or something?" He asks, doesn't know why Jin would come down a little street like this without a specific purpose.

"Oh. No," Jin says, eyes flickering outside and then back to Kame. "Just walking," he says. "You know, getting fresh air. I'm in between stuff right now, just came from the recording studio and I have to head to the dance studio in a couple of hours. Passing the time." He shrugs, and there's silence between them. "Actually," he pauses. "I got lost." He admits.

"So you came to me for directions?" Kame asks, eyebrow raised.

"Mostly to make sure you were okay! I was going to ask a waitress for directions," Jin insists, voice fading off into a mumble at the end of his sentence. "But I'm in no rush," he says, "Talking to you is better." He waves down the waitress, asks for a beer. "So how are you?" He asks.

"You asked that already." Kame laughs.

"No, how are _you_ , not how's _work_ ," Jin emphasizes, and Kame feels defensive.

"Fine," he says, shoulders stiffening, and he's startled by the noise of Jin standing up, picking his chair up and putting it back down beside Kame. He sits, turns to face the other.

"So do you want to talk about it?"

Kame hesitates and then breathes deeply.

They leave a couple hours later, and Kame makes sure to take care of the bill. The air outside is a little less frigid, and the sun breaks through the gaps in the clouds and melts the snow into a slushy mess.

"Thanks," Kame says, lets out a rush of air. "Thanks," he repeats.

"You just needed to talk about things," he says. "That's what friends are there for, aren't they?"

"I took up a lot of your time," Kame replies, feels guilty. He'd babbled more than he'd meant to, about work, about life, about failed relationships and burying himself in photography. About the friends he used to have and the friends that kept calling even though he never picked up. He'd done it quietly, with his fingers drawing patterns on the hazy glass window and Jin leaning in close to hear every little thing he had to say.

It feels good to have things off his chest, Kame finds. It feels good to have someone else know what he's feeling. But there's a gnawing worry. He doesn't trust Jin, doesn't know him well enough, only knows him as a prominent musician who's going to be on half the billboards in Tokyo in less than a month.

The horror that he's opened himself to someone he considers little more than an acquaintance makes his world lurch.

"—Kame? Can you hear me?" Kame hears Jin ask, and he's snapped out of his sudden sickness.

"Sorry," Kame says, feels just as guilty and more self-conscious.

"Don't be sorry," Jin says. "This is what friends are for, aren't they?" He asks rhetorically, and runs a nervous hand through wavy hair. "I'm not good at giving advice," he says, "but I'll listen. And you don't have to apologize because I want to listen."

Kame nods, feels small, feels his breath coming heavier.

"Kame?" He feels Jin standing beside him, one hand gripping his forearm lightly. "Are you all right?" Do you feel sick?" Jin's voice is laced with concern and worry.

"I feel sick," Kame confirms. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth. "Everything is spinning," he explains, feels Jin pulling him urgently from the middle of pedestrian traffic, and then there's the steady presence of a hard wall against his back and large hands on his shoulders. "You can go, though," Kame says. "I'll be all right."

"Don't be stupid," Jin says hotly, and his voice sounds poisonous.

Then Kame sees black.

\---

He wakes up to someone singing in the shower. He recognizes the song. It's the single that plays on the radio over and over as of late. It's the single that has already sold a million copies and is finally losing a little steam on its way to one point five.

Kame sits up and his hair sticks to the back of his neck. His denim jacket is thrown haphazardly over a lamp, and the whole room could use some tidying (the trashcan in the corner is nearly full, the hamper beside the closet door is overflowing, the dishes look lonely and the beer cans crumple on a nightstand). It's hot beneath the covers, and he flings them off.

He hears the water turn off, the singing subside. There's the noise of the shower curtain being pulled back, and the sound of a door opening. It's a few moments before Jin enters the bedroom, towel around his waist, and water dripping on the carpeted floor as he dries his hair. 

Kame clears his throat and the other looks at him in surprise. "Hey," Jin says.

"You brought me here?" Kame asks.

"Yeah. I got some strange looks dragging you back to my apartment. I think people just assumed you were really drunk or something." He laughs and makes his way over to Kame, gingerly avoids obstacles that splay across the floor. "Sorry about the mess. I've been busy and haven't gotten around to hiring maid service," he says, reaches out a hand to touch Kame's forehead. "You were a little warm, but I didn't think that you were sick enough to go to the emergency room."

"Didn't you have somewhere to be?" Kame asks, mind fuzzy.

Jin blinks, pulls back his hand and tilts his head. "I canceled. Couldn't leave you alone, could I?" He approaches the closet—walk-in—and Kame watches as he pulls articles of clothing from hangers and slanting piles. "If you feel up to it, you can take a shower," Jin says, throws a ball of clothing in Kame's direction. "Towels are in the bathroom, first door on your left. I'll get changed in the guest room." He pauses. "I think you should rest a little bit more, though."

When he leaves, the door shuts with a soft click, and all is quiet.

Kame falls back, head hitting the pillow with a soft whoosh of air.

He feels more tired than before.

\---

When Kame wakes up again, he looks around the room with bleary eyes. It looks cleaner, like someone's gone through and picked up all the junk, put everything back in place. He sits up and sees Jin sitting at the foot of the bed, his back to Kame and a cell phone to his ear.

It's Kame's cell phone.

"He'll be okay," Kame hears Jin say. "A little bit of a temperature, maybe. I think he's just tired." There's a pause before Kame hears a shrill voice on the other line. He recognizes it as Emi, and he's surprised that she isn't already on her way over to take a look at him. "He’s stressed," Jin says, "The only thing he can really do is rest. And maybe stop working so hard and worrying about everything." There's another pause, and Emi's voice subsides into a soft, motherly tone. Jin listens to her speak, twirls his fingers in his hair. "I agree," he says.

Kame's stomach lurches. They're talking about him. Kame feels stupid for telling Jin anything, stupid for it having this effect on him.

"How long have you been awake?" Jin asks, shakes Kame from his thoughts. He pulls the phone away from his ear and crawls up the bed to sit beside the other. "It's Emi. Do you want to talk to her?" He holds out the phone.

Kame shakes his head. He'll just get a lecture.

Jin’s lips press together, but he brings the phone back up to his own ear. "He's really tired, Emi, but when he feels up to speaking, I'll tell him to call you." There's a pause. "I'll call you for him, if he's that stubborn." Jin hangs up smiling, but when he turns back to Kame, it fades from his face. "How do you feel now?" He asks.

"How long have I been asleep?" Kame asks. Outside of the window beside Jin's bed, it's light.

"It's almost morning now. So you know, a while." Jin laughs uneasily. "How do you feel?" He repeats, sounds worried.

"Okay," Kame lies.

"I'll pretend to believe you," Jin quips, hands gripping the sheets lightly. "Will that make you feel better?" He asks.

Kame feels tired again, really exhausted, but his world no longer lurches and twists and slants. He's still a little bit afraid of Jin knowing about his feelings and emotions, feels vulnerable and soft whenever the other looks at him. "I'm tired," he chokes, looks down at the covers that bunch in his lap. "No," he says, and feels confused because he doesn't feel sick, but he doesn't feel better.

"You're sorry a lot," Jin says lightly, tries to brighten the situation.

"I'm sorry that I caused a lot of worry," Kame says delicately. "That's okay, right?" He continues looking at the blankets in his lap, curls his fingers in the heavy comforter. "Sorry that I told you my entire life story and then hyperventilated over it," he says, lets out a dull laugh. Wetness pricks the corner of his eyes.

He feels like a woman.

"Hey," Jin says. "Are you crying?" He asks, brushes stray hair from Kame's face as he leans over to look at him. "Don't cry," he says. "It makes me feel nervous. It makes me feel responsible." There's a little wan smile on his face, and Kame tries his best to return it, but it wavers and his shoulders shake.

"Sorry." He says it softly.

There's hesitation as Jin stretches his limbs, sits cross-legged and looks over at Kame. "Come here," he says, doesn't wait for the other to move, moves himself. He wraps his arms around Kame's thin body, squeezes him tightly and smoothes his hair. "This is what friends do," Jin says lamely. 

Kame stiffens, feels Jin's body pressed up against his side and Jin's breath on his right ear. He hesitates, can't pull away, convinces himself that he's too tired to try before he leans back against Jin. "Thanks," he says. "Thanks for being a friend," he chokes.


	3. PART 03

Jin brings him home that evening and Kame steps out of the car wearing a striped pullover that falls off his shoulders and sweatpants that have seen better days. Jin insistently thrusts a wool overcoat at him, tells him that he shouldn't be outside in the snow without a decent jacket. He's steely against Kame's protest that the front door to the apartment complex is less than ten meters away.

"Your body is fragile." Jin emphasizes every syllable of the last word, grins wide as he leans over in the passenger seat to talk to Kame through the half-open window. "You just recovered from a fever," he explains slowly, and the other rolls his eyes.

"What fever?" Kame snatches the jacket through the window. "Thanks." He puts it on and bows deeply, looks ridiculous in the coat that has sleeves that go centimeters past his fingertips and ends below his knees. "Thank you for taking care of me," he finishes, and means it. Kame doesn't remember the last time he let someone take care of him.

"That's what friends do."

Kame says it to fill the silence that follows. "Do you want to come inside?"

And Jin doesn't decline, turns the key in the car's ignition and steps into the frigid night air. When he breathes, there are puffs of white condensation. "Since you got to see my place in all of its unkempt glory, I should be able to see yours, right?" he asks, sounds like he's trying to justify going upstairs. They walk to the entrance shoulder to shoulder, Kame buried in the coat and Jin fighting the elements with a long-sleeve t-shirt.

"It's a little messy," Kame says after he unlocks the door to his apartment and opens the door.

"Messy?" Jin asks, kicks off scruffy sneakers and looks around the wide airy space. It's reminiscent of a loft, with open doorways and boldly painted walls. Something from a contemporary furniture magazine. Large black and white photo prints hang from the walls. "It’s _nice_. Photography pays this well?" He appears incredulous.

"The landlord is a family friend," Kame explains, gingerly removes his own shoes and places them in a neat row beside the door. "Want anything to eat or drink?" He plays host as he leads Jin to the living room and hurries to the coffee table, straightens a pile of photographs and magazines into a neat pile in the corner. "Sorry," he breathes, rushes to collect a bowl and a spoon and a glass on the floor beside the couch. "I'm a mess." He laughs.

"Are you kidding me?" Jin asks. "I don't even have any dishes in my cabinets because they're all in the sink or on the floor or in the _bathroom_ —." He stops his train of thought. "Are the photos on the walls yours?" He asks, pays particular attention to one of a sleeping salaryman sitting on a bench, presumably waiting for the morning's first train. "I mean, did you take them?"

"Yeah." Kame says. "Did you say you wanted anything from the kitchen?" He motions toward it. "I'm going to clean up a little bit, so watch TV, okay?" Kame leaves the other to his own devices as he makes sure that there are no dirty clothes in plain sight and no scummy dishes to pick up.

Kame wonders what he’s going to do, because he hadn't meant to invite Jin inside, certainly hadn't expected the other to accept his invitation at such a late hour (he checks a clock on the wall—nearly midnight). And he hasn't played host in a long time and he doesn’t have anything to entertain his guest _with_ and—

"Kame?" Jin asks and he's standing in the kitchen looking more at home than the other.

"Sorry," Kame says apologetically. "I haven't had guests in a while, so I don't clean as often as I should." The words rush out of his mouth. "And I was trying to think of something to do, but there's not much to do at midnight."

"We could watch TV together," Jin suggests, shrugs his shoulders. "Or you could show me all your cool photography equipment." His eyes light up.

There's something about Jin, Kame thinks, that attracts people like moths to a flame. Maybe it's just a combination of everything—from his charming smile to his sincere personality and apparent quest to befriend everyone who crosses his path.

Kame ends up showing Jin all of the different types of photography equipment he has until three in the morning, until Jin nearly falls asleep on his feet and Kame has to half-drag him to the tiny guestroom.

"Good night," Kame says. He yawns through his fingers and snorts when he captures a glance of Jin. He looks like a huge kid, tucked beneath thick covers with limbs splayed in all directions.

"Kame," Jin says, softly, and Kame almost thinks he's hearing things. "Hey, Kame."

"Yes?" Kame asks, and the air is so quiet he can hear their breaths.

Jin hesitates—Kame can hear him inhale a breath and hold it. "I forget," he says finally, and laughs. Kame rolls his eyes to the dark and shoves the mattress with one knee. 

" _Stupid_ ," he jests.

\---

Jin is a little bit like Emi, worming his way into Kame's life without Kame really realizing how. They both bring something fresh and new, Emi with her jibing ways and sisterly affection and Jin with his willingness to simply _be there_.

There is, of course, a difference. Kame is still apprehensive of Jin, a little bit. He's known him for a whole three weeks, maybe, and Emi has been one of Kame's assistants since he began working full-time at Shibui. 

But, Kame finds, they both like to worry about him a lot.

He almost thinks that Emi won't bring up his little episode with Jin, nearly reaches the one-week mark before she stops by his desk with that girly smile on her face.

"I wanted to come see you that day, but Jin insisted that you needed your rest," she recalls, leans her elbows on Kame's desk and twirls a strand of hair with a finger. "And he sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so I decided that you were in good hands," she chirps. "How'd he cure you?" She adds a few moments later, and leans in like Kame will tell her a juicy secret.

He raises an eyebrow instead. "He let me sleep in his bed until I wasn't tired anymore," Kame says blandly, shuffles through photographs and memos and piles of papers and stacks of magazines that balance his cameras precariously. "How do you know he knew what he was talking about?" He asks, crumples up old notes and practices shooting them into a wastebasket beside a co-worker's desk. "What if he was doing everything wrong?" He leans back in his chair and stretches his hands above his head.

"Did he?" Emi asks, motions flicking Kame in the forehead. "He's a good friend, Kame," she half-admonishes, voice lowering to little more than a whisper. "He really thinks of you as a friend, and I think you think of him as a friend, but you keep finding reasons to make your relationship less than what it is." She pauses in her lecture. "He really cares about what's good for you, even though you haven't known him for a long time. I don't think you heard our entire conversation the other day, but he was really worried."

"He's that type of person," Kame insists. "He's the type of person who would give up the entire world for one of his friends."

"In any case," Emi says in that voice that means she's too tired to argue, that means she has better things to do (surf the internet and look for cheap sales in the immediate Tokyo area), "He's _good_ for you. You're happier, lately, I noticed."

"There's not as much work to do, lately. I'm more relaxed."

"Do you know how long you've been relaxing?"

"Since there's been less work to do?"

"Since _Jin_."

"Shut up. That's a coincidence."

\---

Jin calls Kame often. And often means everyday. He asks him how he's doing and if he's feeling well, asks how work is and if anything interesting has happened in the glamorous life of a fashion photographer ("You're the famous one!" Kame says exasperatedly). He himself babbles about writing lyrics and composing music, about meeting with public relations and record executives.

One of them always invites the other to go out, but their schedules always conflict. Jin has a voice lesson when Kame asks him out to lunch and Kame has an important meeting when Jin asks him to if he wants to go to a karaoke bar with a few of his friends.

It's only a few days before the February release of Shibui when neither of them is busy, and Jin invites Kame to a hyped nightclub in a popular section of Shibuya. "I wonder," he says thoughtfully over the phone, after giving Kame directions to a proposed meeting place, "if this will be one of the last times I can go out without getting mobbed."

"You'll be okay," Kame assures. "You'll just have to get used to wearing big floppy hats and bug-eyed sunglasses."

\---

Kame decides that Jin is one of those people who is inherently late. Maybe not by much, a few minutes at most, but never on time. The other approaches him only after Kame has the opportunity to pull out his cellphone, once, twice, consider texting the other (he counts the number of couples he sees walking by instead).

"You look a lot better," Jin tells Kame, grins widely as he approaches him and stands in sharp contrast against the milling crowd. He walks casually, hands in the pockets of dark jeans, long-sleeved dress shirt half buttoned and pressing against his body in the right places, black flats clicking against the pavement.

"Do I look bad usually?" Kame asks, raises an eyebrow as he flips his cell phone shut. He wears more layers than Jin, but he suspects that the other is somehow impervious to the cold air. Skinny gray jeans and black boots, a deep-cutting v-neck shirt and close-fitting red blazer.

"I meant from when you were dead in my bed forever, stupid," Jin says and laughs. "You look healthier, I mean," he says and gestures toward Kame's face. Kame feels self-conscious because Emi noticed the same thing. Something about glow and radiance and what love did to people etcetera etcetera (Kame blocks her out sometimes).

"You look tired," Kame offers in return, and Jin leads the way, says that he knows the owner of the club and everything will be free, don't worry. The music is good and the people love to dance. It's sure to be a fun time, especially since several prolific DJs are going to provide the music.

It's with all of Jin's words that Kame realizes that he hasn't spent a night out in a long time, and his heart beats anxiously. He knows they're nearing the club when the pavement feels like it's shaking, when Jin leads him down a small street that has a queue of people dressed and undressed in shine and sparkles and makeup.

They stop at the front of the line, the bouncer preoccupied with talking to a girl who stands there with several of her friends. Jin taps the man on the shoulder, whispers something in his ear and there's a nod and a raised finger to gesture for them to wait a second, he'll be with Jin and Kame right after he takes care of these kids.

The man lets the girls in before turning to Jin and Kame. Kame notices that the girls look at Jin in awe and he smiles back at them.

When the bouncer turns to them, he unclips the velvety red rope easily and lets them step in front of the queue and before the dark doors of the club. "Long time no see," the bouncer says to Jin, nods his head in acknowledgement of Kame. "Where've you been, Jin?"

"I'm busy lately," Jin drawls, links his fingers behind his head and turns to Kame. "This is my first free night in a while. This is Kame. Kame, this is Taka."

"Nice to meet you, Taka," Kame says, and bows. Taka laughs.

\---

When Kame drinks, he feels _loose_. He feels free and uninhibited. He smiles easily, lets strangers buy him drinks and feed him drunken pick-up lines. He dances with women with lithe bodies and heavy makeup and men who boldly approach him. Kame flits from person to person and smirks like he knows a secret, presses his hips against men and women who want to learn it.

He lives in his own little bubble, forgets that Jin is even there until he accidentally bumps into the other pressed against a girl with bleached blonde hair and clothing that leaves little to the imagination. His head is thrown back and his eyes are shut, his hands are on her hips and he moves against her easily, like rolling his hips is the most natural thing in the world.

Kame has to give him credit for that, for the way he moves his hips, for the way his charming smile transforms into a seductive smirk and attracts the attention of all living beings within a certain radius.

He rests a friendly hand on Jin's shoulder, makes him aware of his presence before he swaggers toward someone new, forgets everything as the bass ripples through his body and the heat envelopes him until he's drunk on alcohol and people and music.

He finds someone. A pretty little thing with light brown hair and big round eyes. She sounds sweet and looks cute, and when Kame sees her sitting alone at the bar, he buys her a drink and forgets about dancing in favor of serenading someone that he will never see again. She giggles at his jokes and Kame admires her style. They leave together after little more than twenty minutes, and Kame makes sure that he catches Jin's eye before the girl drags him out the door. 

Jin's eyes widen a little in surprise, his mouth upturning into a smile and he offers a wink before turning back to his own partner. 

She leads him to a love hotel and Kame thinks that she just pretends to be coy and shy. She feels soft under his hands and under his body. When they kiss, she pushes her tongue into his mouth and she tastes like stale alcohol and old breath mints, but he likes the way that she worms her skinny arms around his neck and pulls him closer.

Kame buries a hand in her hair, leans in close and presses his thin lips to her neck, bites and licks the skin there and relishes in her high moans and ticklish giggles. She wraps her legs around his waist, then, gasps light and airy and shuts her eyes tight when he presses inside her, presses his mouth in her wavy hair and mumbles all things incoherent because his brain is fuzzy and he can't do much more than feel.

So of course, when he comes, he doesn't remember her name, just says the first one that comes to mind.

She doesn't seem to care very much, follows him over the edge with long red marks down the line of his back and breathless moans that fill the silence in the air.

\---

"You left your jacket at the club," Jin says when he calls him the next afternoon. Kame woke up to find her gone, a note mentioning something about class and a phone number with a name written in cute, bubbly hiragana. He hadn’t taken it with him when he’d left the hotel. "I got it for you, so don't worry," he says, and laughs. "You looked like you were having a good time."

"It's been a long time since I went out like that," Kame says, and doesn't know what to say next.

Jin combats the quiet for him. "She was cute," he mentions. "Not my type, but, you know."

"The girl?" Kame asks, sounds surprised. He didn't think that Jin would remember what she looked like. "Yeah," he says, bites his bottom lip and thinks a moment. "Yours had big boobs. Real?" He asks, and laughs. It's awkward and uneasy and he feels like he's in high school again.

"I don't remember," Jin says. "I was really gone. And I didn't leave with her either."

"Oh," Kame says, and they leave it at that.

\---

The February issue of Shibui hits shelves and it's barely a day before Jin's face is plastered all over the morning and evening news. The news anchors discuss how they half-expected him to be more average, more like a salaryman, but he has the looks to rival any male idol, and newspapers boldly call him the antithesis to the manufactured pop groups of various talent agencies. 

He appears on billboards and in commercials, endorses everything from Coca-Cola to DoCoMo cellphones. It's hard to get away from him.

Kame sees how fast the fame and recognition comes to fruition. The next day, there is a tabloid with a large image of Jin plastered on the front. He's giving a cold glance at the camera, isn't wearing bug-eyed sunglasses or a floppy hat, and looks angry to be intruded upon.

Jin doesn't call him for a few days, and when he finally does, Kame asks how he is.

"All right," Jin says, sounds more tired than usual, and it's only nine in the evening. "I just got home. We're shooting new promotional videos for the first three singles now. You know, videos that feature me rather than actors." He sounds breathless, maybe overwhelmed.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kame asks again, after a few seconds of silence.

"Yes,” Jin says, slowly, drawls out the word. And then, hesitantly: "Hey, I need a drink—I know this place—"

"I'll meet you there."

\---

Jin, when drunk, is less restricted, more open. He says things that Kame is pretty sure he wouldn't say otherwise (at least, not to him).

"I don't get to see my friends a lot," Jin says lamely, takes another shot and drums his fingertips on the bar top. "Especially lately. If my workload is like this all the time, I won't have a free day for the rest of my life," he says, and runs his hands through his hair.

"You'll get used to it." Kame takes a sip of his beer, raises an eyebrow as Jin asks for another shot. "Maybe you should stop," he says, and reaches out to grab Jin's forearm.

"You sound like my mom," Jin whines, pushes Kame's hand away. "I miss my mom's cooking." He pouts. "I should visit my family, but—"

"You're busy," Kame says, and pushes Jin's arm down as he tries to wave for the bartender. "Stop it," he says. "Every time you want another drink—" He pauses.

"Every time I want another drink what?" Jin asks, folds his arms on the bar and lays his head down, looks up at Kame. "Every time I want another drink—" he says, and waits for Kame to finish the sentence.

"I get to ask you a question," Kame says finally, and smiles.

"Do I have to answer it before I get my drink?" Jin asks.

"Yes," Kame says, and flicks Jin in the shoulder. "That's the entire point. So you don't drink the entire bar dry before one in the morning," he deadpans.

"I can afford to _buy_ the entire bar," Jin announces, "But I wouldn't have the time to use it," he finishes and grimaces, buries his head in his arms. "Ask a question," he murmurs, sounds muffled through his jacket.

Kame sounds hesitant. "I don't know."

"We can't play this game if you don't have questions. Can I ask you a question?" Jin asks.

"Okay," Kame says, "then I get a drink."

"You're not done the one you have right now," Jin says. He sits up straight, turns on his stool so that he faces Kame. He plants his hands on his thighs and looks up at the ceiling as if in thought.

"You're putting a lot of effort into this," Kame says, takes a sip and narrowly avoids Jin's toe connecting hard with his shin.

"Okay," Jin says, looks at him with hazy eyes. "Why are you so lonely?" He asks, and smiles sweetly to offset the question.

"I'm not lonely." Kame laughs a little incredulously, feels the hairs on his skin standing on end and a headache permeating his mind.

"You look lonely," Jin says. "That's what I noticed when I first saw you. You looked lonely." He blinks. "And the second time I saw you, you were really lonely. And the third time—at the club—you weren't lonely, but that's only because you were drunk and probably forgot you were lonely. And you left with a girl, so how could you _possibly_ be—"

"Shut up," Kame says, gulps down the rest of his alcohol. "You're drunk," he says. "I'm taking you home." He shakes his head as Jin reaches for his wallet. "I'll take care of it."

Jin stumbles a little when he walks, and Kame steadies him with an arm around his waist. They hail a cab and Kame tells the driver where Jin lives.

It starts to rain outside.

They're at a stoplight before either says anything. "You smile more when you're drunk," Jin says suddenly, and Kame's lips immediately form a thin line. "You look happier," Jin continues, and he looks at Kame through the fringe of his hair.

Kame doesn't answer, but he supposes Jin is a little right, because when he's drunk, everything seems a little more optimistic. Lights seem brighter, his mind seems clearer, and the world feels like it's standing still so that he doesn't have to worry very much about anything. 

There's silence in the cab as it makes its way toward Jin's apartment complex. Kame looks out the window at the rainy, gray sky and wet sidewalks, and Jin shifts uncomfortably in the seat. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Kame cuts him off before he has the chance.

"That was a compliment, right?" Kame asks, draws patterns in the condensation on the window. He laughs, and he can see Jin's reflection in the glass.

"Of course it's a compliment," Jin says, eyes widening a little as he stretches his arms. "You should smile more. It's a cute smile."

"Aren't you too forward when you're drunk?" Kame jokes, "You might say something you'll regret."

"But," Jin replies, "I'll tell you a secret." He unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots to Kame's side of the car, breaches the boundaries of Kame’s personal space as he wraps an arm around the other’s shoulders. Kame can feel Jin's breath on his ear and a musical lilt to his voice. "If I say something I regret," he drawls, "I could just blame it on being drunk. Or," he pauses, and squeezes Kame closer, "I could just pretend that I forgot what happened."

"That would be cowardly." Kame feels something funny in the pit of his stomach.

"I've never done it before," Jin admits, and sidles back over to his side of the cab just as it stops in front of his apartment complex. Kame pays and exits, watches Jin fumble out of the taxi.

"I think we should probably get you in bed," Kame murmurs, and he leads the way up to Jin's apartment.

"Are you staying?" Jin asks while they're in the elevator, rests his head on Kame's shoulder and Kame blinks.

"I don't know," he says, laughs, steals a glance at Jin. "I just didn't want you to pass out in front of your building or in the lobby or something." And he laughs again as Jin bumps him with his hip and fumbles for his keys.

"If you stay," Jin says, and the elevator bell dings as they reach his floor. "If you stay," he repeats, "You can have the bed." And Kame notes hesitation between the words that signal caution.

"Okay." Kame takes the keys from Jin, unlocks the door as the other hums a song that Kame doesn't recognize. "Where will you sleep?" He asks, and leans against the doorframe, turns back toward Jin as he clicks the door open.

"I don't know," he says, parrots Kame and laughs too. "Where do you want me to sleep?" The words are suggestive.

Kame feels trapped between Jin and the apartment.

"I'll just go home," he says, one hand holding the keys out to Jin as he runs the other through his hair. Jin shrugs, takes the keys from his hand. "Good night," Kame says, and waits for Jin to move out of the way.

Not that he expects him to, really, but Kame also doesn't really expect Jin to move toward him. And his stomach drops and Jin is pressed against him, one thigh pressed between Kame's legs and both hands gripping Kame's forearms.

"I like you." It's like in the car, but Jin's warm, alcoholic breath is on Kame's mouth rather than on Kame's ears. Jin leans in, slowly, and Kame tries to melt into the doorframe as the other presses wetted lips against the corner of his mouth.

Kame feels a hand drift from his forearm to his hip, grab tightly as Jin presses closer, and Kame jerks his head away when he feels tongue, pushes Jin's hands away and the other moves back. They stay in the doorway with their hands at their sides.

Jin scratches his nose. "Sorry," he says, blinks and there's a sharp clarity in his eyes, none of that hazy drunkenness. He runs his hands through his thick hair, tilts his head back and Kame can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Sorry," he repeats. "I'm drunk," he offers.

"I think," Kame says, and shoves his hands into his back pockets, feels himself shaking so he leans harder against the doorframe. "I think that if you can use that as an excuse, then you aren't drunk enough for it to be valid." He says, and remembers what Jin said in the cab. "And you're lying, anyway," he mumbles, and his eyes search the other's.

"Yeah," Jin breathes, and an embarrassed smile graces his face. Kame's heart pounds in his ears.

"I don't—" Kame begins, but the words die in his throat. 

"I know." Jin smiles wanly this time, and Kame moves out into the hallway so that he can enter his apartment. "Sorry," Jin offers again, and shuts the door. 

Kame stands there for a few moments, tries to collect his thoughts and his erratic heartbeats before he finally turns away to leave.


	4. PART 04

The rain falls harder than it did earlier in the evening, and the streets smell strongly of asphalt. Kame hails a cab to take him home, and the interior smells like wet animals. The radio buzzes with a station that plays ballads twenty-four seven, and the sappy love lyrics are drowned out whenever thunder sounds.

It would be foreboding if the night had not already climaxed.

Kame curls into a corner, leans his head against the cold glass with his legs bent against his chest and his chin resting on his knees. His fingers grip the hem of his coat sleeves— _that_ one. Jin's. The one he wore because he meant to return it, but things had ended too awkwardly for him to even think about that.

His head dully aches and he sniffles. A cold might be coming on from the recent weather, or perhaps Jin is affecting him in all sorts of strange ways.

 _Jin_. Lately, everything seems to come back to him. It's not like Kame can help it. Jin is everywhere, and the thought is punctuated when the taxi passes a brightly-lit billboard of him endorsing some soft drink and one of his singles begins to play on the radio.

Kame closes his eyes to sleep, buries his face into the collar of the coat in order to escape. But he _can’t_ , because--

Because.

His cell phone vibrates in his pocket and he knows the caller without checking the screen. But, his stomach still turns when he sees the inevitable kanji, and he inhales deeply before answering.

"Hello?" Kame’s own voice is hoarse, a little dry.

"It's Jin."

"I know," Kame says. "Your number is in my phone." He laughs a little and at that instant, resolves that it is better for the both of them to forget about uneasy situations and move on.

"I thought maybe you—” Kame can hear Jin inhale sharply.

"Jin?"

"Maybe—you. I don't know. Kame, tonight—”

"Forget about it," Kame says softly. "It's okay."

"Kame, that's—”

"It's _all right_ ,” Kame assures.

"Okay," Jin says, and Kame thinks he sounds relieved. "Did you get home all right? I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"I'm still in the cab," Kame says. "I'll be home in a few minutes."

"Ah," Jin says. "Good night, Kame."

"Good night."

"I really was—am—drunk," Jin adds quickly, unsurely and hesitantly.

"I know." Kame isn’t going to argue. There’s no reason to.

Their relationship is built around something that he cannot quite place. He supposes that they are acquaintances, perhaps friends, but not exceptionally close. Kame is removed from Jin's life—he doesn't know his friends nor is he quite clear on the other's background, or even his hobbies outside of music. There is comfort, Kame thinks, in confiding in strangers. He recalls listening to Jin in the ramen shop about his insecurities on success and the limelight, and he recalls babbling about his own problems and worries at that coincidental meeting in the tiny, nostalgic cafe. 

Strangers harbor no bias. They only know what is told to them. People find comfort in being told that they are right, that everything will be all right.

They are like that, Kame thinks, and he's a little disturbed because now any trust between them seems clouded and hazy and fake. They see each other through rose-tinted glasses.

Kame falls asleep on top of his bed, fully clothed and without pulling back the covers. He's done a lot of thinking and all he knows is that he is exhausted and the cause is Jin. That and he has to go to work later for a photoshoot featuring some gravure model or another.

\---

Kame wakes up at ten in the morning and he had to be at work two hours earlier. It is suffice to say that he is late. He finds that his cell phone has died, all of his jeans are dirty, and the milk for his morning coffee expired six days ago. On the way to work, a passing car sprays him with water, his umbrella manages to flip inside out, and a black cat won't stop following him until he reaches the station (and there's nowhere to sit because of the woman who is taking up three seats).

He arrives at eleven with his equipment thankfully intact. Karma has deemed that Kame will at least be able to work without any problems. "Did you get my message?" He asks Emi, who is stalking toward him with an angry gait. "My cell died, so I called you from home. But you didn't answer and I didn't know the number for the studio and I was in a _rush_ —” He exhales deeply and pushes stray strands of wet hair from his face.

"Tough morning?" Emi asks, and her arms are crossed and one hip is cocked. "The model took a lunch break. Her agent is pissed. It took all of my negotiation skills to keep them from calling in another photographer." She looks Kame up and down and her face softens at his pathetic appearance—light jacket half-buttoned and baggy jeans spilling from the tops of his sagging boots. "Want to grab coffee? Something to eat? We'll need to be back here in half an hour, but I'm sure we can get something."

\---

"I was a little worried," Emi admits, and she nurses a slice of cake. "I mean, you occasionally do dumb things like show up late, but never this late." Kame sags in the corner of his side of the booth, drums his fingers against a mug of black coffee. "I called Jin," she continues, and looks at Kame with some suspicion.

Kame shifts, brings the coffee up to his lips and his eyes stare over the edge of the mug at Emi. "Why?" He asks, laughs under his breath. "You just assume I'm always with him, huh?" It’s rhetorical, but Emi answers him anyway.

"He's the only friend of yours whose number I have—and you do spend time with him. More than with anyone else." She stabs her cake slice with her fork. "I'm just playing the odds."

Curiosity gets the best of Kame. "What did he say?"

"He said that you went out drinking with him. You took him home and then went home yourself. He said that the last time he talked to you, you were still in the cab."

"Yeah. He was drunk," Kame says, justifies taking Jin home. "I couldn't leave him to his own devices, right?"

Emi ignores him. "What else happened last night, Kame?"

"Nothing. We just went drinking. We talked a little."

"He sounded tired. Like you do right now. Did something happen to him?” She pauses. “What about you? Did you guys fight? You don’t have to tell me _exactly_ , but, frankly—” She purses her lips and reaches over the table to push back Kame’s bangs. “—you look like death. And I’m sure he’s not much better right now.”

"It's really nothing, Emi." Kame bats her hand away. "It's really all right."

"The only person you ever convince is yourself," she says, and her eyes flicker to the clock on the wall above the doorway. "Let's go back, then."

\---

Kame returns home that evening to find Jin waiting in front of his door. He stands with his back to Kame, cell phone in hand.

"Jin."

"Kame!" Jin turns toward him, sheepish smile firmly in place as he flips his phone shut. "I've only been waiting a little while," he says. Before Kame can ask.

"What're you doing here?" Kame asks, approaching him. Jin moves as Kame pulls out his keys and begins to unlock the door.

Jin doesn't say anything, and he follows Kame inside the apartment without asking for permission. "Just wanted to talk," he says finally, and slips off his shoes and lines them up against the wall. "About stuff," he says lamely.

"I told you that stuff is all right," Kame says, and he leads Jin to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No." Jin leans against a counter, hands in his pockets and eyes following Kame's movements. "Are you sure it's all right?" He asks.

"How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe me?" Kame asks, looks at him. He smiles, a little strained. "You're worrying too much," he says.

It's all right, Kame decides, but things feel awkward. Jin's presence has him on edge, and his hands shake a little as he hastily places dirty dishes in the sink.

"You're lying," Jin says easily.

Kame laughs. "Why are you here?" He asks again. "Specifically." He tries to avoid looking at Jin, but he can see him shifting out of the corner of his eye and through the fringe of his hair.

"Why do you keep saying it's all right?" Jin retorts.

"Because it is," Kame announces. "It's all right. It's not a big deal. It was last night—in the past. We regret it so we can move on." He begins to place clean glasses and silverware into cabinets and drawers.

"I don't regret it," Jin says. He pushes off the counter and looks apprehensively at Kame. "Trying to tell you. I don't regret it," he repeats, and he sees Kame biting his lip. "And to answer your question," he continues, "I'm here because I was worried. Because I called you and you wouldn't answer." He reaches up to scratch his nose, leans his head back so he looks at the ceiling. "Because Emi called me and said she didn't know where you were. I was a little scared," he admits, and he laughs.

"I'm okay," Kame says softly. "I'm all right."

"We should talk. So that there's no ambiguity. So that we actually can make everything all right between us."

"Everything's _fine_ ,” Kame bites, and he slams a cabinet shut. "It's very clear." He approaches Jin, stands toe to toe with him and looks him in the eyes. Jin is startled. "We barely know each other, you know. You tell me things that you don't want to tell anyone close to you because then they'll know too much about you. I tell you things that I don't want to tell anyone close to me because they'll know too much about me." He pauses. "It makes sense, doesn't it? We can't pass judgment on each other that way. We just accept and say it's all right—”

“What’re you talking about?” Jin asks, and he sounds incredulous. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to say.” He laughs beneath his breath before continuing, voice low, “You know, you say it's all right. You _always_ say that. You pretend everything's okay. Everything's _not_ okay, but you try to justify it anywa—”

"I'm not justifying anything. I'm just explaining how things are, and it just so happens that we don't have as close a relationship as you might think. It's like—”

"Like you have no idea what you're talking about. Like you're trying to avoid what I'm trying to talk about. We're _friends_ , Kame. And I like you as _more_ tha—”

"We're not friends," Kame says. "We're not friends. We're something different."

"Different but not strangers, or whatever you’re convinced we are. Different because it runs deeper than friendship. Because friendship is just sharing hobbies, and going out together. This is something where we can talk about things that we don't talk about with other pe—”

"It's shallow," Kame says. "Strangers can talk to each other about the deepest things because the other person doesn't know enough to pass judgment, to have an opinion on the matter. People talk about the deepest things to people they don't know because there's no bias, because all people want is a nod and a pat on the head."

Jin laughs, shakes his head. "Caring about you hurts," he says.

"You caring about me hurts," Kame replies, and steps backward. "Everything's all right until you come along. And then all of a sudden everything's awkward and the air is too thick to breathe. My stomach drops and—”

"It's like that?" Jin asks.

"It's like that." Kame looks at his feet, leans his arms on the kitchen table and tries to avoid Jin's eyes again. "It's you," he accuses. He sounds stupid and small, like a child who can't explain something properly. "It's you, you know," he says, and his voice is tiny.

Jin steps forward until he stands directly in front of Kame. "So this—” he begins.

"This is uncomfortable," Kame says, and his eyes flicker to Jin's face to Jin's hair, to Jin's dark green sweater and the impossibly dark wash of his jeans. "I don't like it," he says lamely, before Jin grabs one of his hands and laces their fingers together. He pulls Kame toward him and wraps his free arm around Kame's waist, presses his face into Kame's hair.

"Really?" Jin asks “Are you sure?” His breath is warm and Kame can hear his own heartbeat.

It beats very fast.

"Really," Kame says, but he doesn't push Jin away. It's easier, sometimes, he thinks, not to fight. To let things happen. "Really," he repeats.

It’s a familiar statement. "The only person you ever convince is yourself." Jin shifts and moves backward so that he can see Kame's face. He lets go of Kame's fingers, moves his hand up to push Kame's hair away from his eyes.

Kame sees that Jin's eyes are dark and searching, a little fearful and maybe confused.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Jin says, and Kame doesn't stop him because--

Because.

Jin's lips don't taste like alcohol. They are full and soft and warm and taste like peppermint flavored lip balm. Kame feels Jin press closer to him, feels his muscles, nervous and tense.

Time moves very slowly, at that moment.

When Jin pulls away, his eyes are still dark and searching and maybe a little bit more fearful than before.

"It's all right," Kame says, his throat dry, and Jin's eyes look more relieved and his figure becomes more relaxed.

"All right so I can do it again?" Jin asks, and leans in, lets his mouth linger above the other's.

Kame does it on impulse, leaning up and tilting his head back so that their mouths meet.

That is the reaction Jin is waiting for, Kame decides, because the second kiss is rougher and more desperate. Jin's hands drop to Kame's hips, and his thumbs rest in the waistband of Kame's jeans.

Kame thinks about it, a little, why he lets Jin do this and why he responds. Why, all of a sudden, everything feels okay and all right, and his stomach ceases churning and his heartbeat falls into a comfortable rhythm.

He's not sure, really. But Kame isn't really sure what he's supposed to be sure about anymore.

Jin gets ready to leave soon after that, with a bright face and wide smile. "I'll call you," he says. "Pick up this time, or I'll get worried again. And I'll have to come back." He pauses. "Maybe you shouldn't pick up," he jests.

"Maybe," Kame says, and stands at the doorway as Jin leaves his apartment and enters the hallway. "Sorry," he says. "For putting you through all of this." He feels guilty, now. He's surprised that Jin bothers to put up with him, that Jin _wants_ him after all of this.

Jin looks back at him, hands in his pockets. "There are still things to talk about." He stands up straight like something bothers him. "We still have to talk about us," he says, and Kame’s eyes flicker toward his feet.

"But you're going now."

"Yeah."

They stand in silence.

"Did you drive here?" Kame asks.

"Train. And then I walked. Traffic was bad when I left home, so—”

"Weren't you cold?" Kame asks, and retreats back inside his apartment. He returns a few moments later with Jin's wool coat, the one Jin insisted that he should wear, the one that he never did return. "I don't want you to get sick," he says softly, and enters the hallway, thrusts the coat into Jin's hands. "It's yours, anyway." He steps back, hands in his back pockets and lips pressed together.

Jin looks surprised. "I forgot you had it," he says, and puts it on. "Thanks."

"It's all right," Kame says, and moves into his apartment. "I'll see you later." He begins to shut the door and is startled when something prevents him, Jin stepping forward and shoving his foot in the space between the door and the doorway.

Kame reopens it and Jin retracts his foot. "Um," Jin says intelligently, and reaches up to scratch his nose. He inhales deeply, sucks the air in between his teeth. "Want to go to lunch tomorrow?" He asks quickly, and he bites his bottom lip.

This is the Jin Kame knows, humble and down-to-earth, a little nervous, but straight-forward. 

"Is this a date?" Kame asks seriously.

This is the person Kame is, wary of relationships, and, perhaps, most people in general.

"Yes," Jin says. "Yes," he repeats, and laughs. "Of course it's a date. What else would it be?" He relaxes.

"I was just making sure," Kame says. "Because I don't know. Because I don't know what you want and I don't know what I want—because—” He struggles.

"Shut up, _Kazuya_ ," Jin says, and reaches out to tug on Kame’s forearm, to pull him back out of his apartment and into the hallway. Jin wraps his arms around Kame and presses his lips into his hair. "Shut up and stop thinking so hard," Jin murmurs. "Sometimes you just have to feel."

Kame is silent for a few moments. “Feel what?” He asks.

“You tell me.”

Kame hesitates. "I feel warm." His lips move against Jin's neck. "I feel comfortable," he admits.

"That's a good thing," Jin explains. "That means you like this. That means you like me," he says.

"Is that it?" Kame asks. "That seems too easy." His lips curve into a smile.

"You make things difficult," Jin accuses. "Everything would be so much easier if you weren't so stubborn," he says.

"Shut up," Kame murmurs, and eases himself out of Jin’s embrace. They stand there, again, silently.

And then, Kame looks up, lifts one hand toward Jin’s face. There’s uncertainty in the movement, an abrupt, jerky pause before his fingers tentatively rest against the other’s cheek. 

He swallows.

Jin leans in.


End file.
